THE FLORAL PLAINT (2)
As I stood near a tree, bent a bough
down and proceeded to set my finger nail---
all floweres let out a cry in woeful
anguish; would you murder us all,
seemed they to ask.
I stood crest-fallen, when in my heart sensitive
there flashed a thought tender and poignant
taking this form of "floral plaint"

THE FLORAL PLAINT (3)
"We are but babes, tender and defenceless,
bounding and romping in our mother's lap--
this leafy arbour.
Do you pluck us to sell and barter in exchange
for God's Benediction"?
O Heartless!
To what avail your worship?

THE FLORAL PLAINT (5)
"The few hours that are alloted to us,
we prosper to the immense pleasure
of our creeper-mother; and in her arms we sing
in joy celebrating our freedom absolute; and
when the destined hour approaches, we breathe our
last uncomplaining, and drop dead at our
mother's cool feet.

THE FLORAL PLAINT (6)
"We heartily play hosts to passing breezes
touching their bodies with our perfume delicate;
We offer nectar aplenty to the bees
that round us eagerly gather;
We present a spectacle pleasant to the eyes
of an aesthete like you.
Why do you rob us of our independence,
so pitilessly, O wretch ?
--You wish to sever the bond sweet
'twixt mother and child ?

THE FLORAL PLAINT (7)
"O ye virtuous, do you for your selfish
ends cut the throats of innocents?
And do you expect Salvation?
Does the Lord of Creation accept
the offering from your bloody hands?
Does not He take unto His lap
our simple souls?Do we need any
meddling mischief-monger's mediation?

THE FLORAL PLAINT (10)
There are epicures who, wanting to
squeeze and enjoy life to the full
sprinkle our deliciou bodies delicate thick
on their beds, roll on us luxuriously
like some swine wallowing in the mud,
crush and kill us under their ponderous
grossness !And, on the morrow--
aye, the insult upon the injury--
they look down on our mortal remains,
our raped, torn, wilted, stinking bodies,
mock in derision, gather us callously
to throw us out on the dung-heap !

THE FLORAL PLAINT (11)
"Our priceless souls and lives lovely,
fragrant and delicate, are spent, wasted
and sacrificed for your sakes -- alas, to no avail
You loot our youthful essence rich
and, as though it were not enough,
sweep us with a broom harsh and
throw our carcass out in the dreary dust.
Say, do you men have any values ?